One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. There were mysterious sounds, all of them musical. “How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded.
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